Deadly Command

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Cameron had to smile. Only Nathan could do that, work out the potential loss to the final dot.

“Little bro,” he said, “I just knew you’d come up with something like that.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t like I have a lot else to do.”

Nathan eased himself into one of the chairs by the desk. At twenty-nine he was five years younger than his brother, whip thin, with dark good looks, his hair worn shoulder length. He dressed well and expensively. His left leg was thrust out stiffly, and his lips tightened in reaction to the ache that never seemed to fully go away. The leg had been badly damaged in the aftermath of a horrific auto accident when he was eighteen. Five people had died in the crash, the result of a head-on collision on the local highway. Nathan, a passenger, had been cut from the wreck after three hours. He had been the only survivor. Despite the surgery that saved his leg, he was left disabled and in pain that came and went. No amount of aftercare restored the damaged limb. But Nathan endured because he had no choice. He’d turned to drugs to dull the pain and might have succumbed all the way if his brother had not stepped in. Lou’s intervention kept his younger brother from losing it completely. He brought him into the organization and put him in charge of running the financial side of the business. Nathan had a natural aptitude for money matters, and he had never taken a wrong step when it came to organizing the cash flow.

“Hey, bro, how are we feeling today?”

Nathan massaged his leg. “Kicked off this morning and won’t let up,” he said. “Hey, I know you got problems. I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“You’ll have me crying in a minute,” Lou said, his tone light as he chided his brother.

“You’re a mean mother.”

“That’s me,” Lou said with a big grin. “So, am I going to need to sell off one of my cars to make up the loss?”

“That would make you cry. The money is just a drop in the pool, but what the fuck is going on, Lou? Who did this to us?”

“I have no idea—yet.”

“Story I heard is Bella figured it was one guy.”

“That’s what we’ve got.”

“That’s crazy,” Nathan said. “He has to be good if he took out the whole crew. Hey, what about Newark? Don’t we have a shipment being handled there as we speak? Another order for Poliokof? Is he still pissed because he didn’t get his weapons on time?”

“Poliokof isn’t our only deal. That freakin’ Russian needs to cool down. The world doesn’t spin on his say-so. A few machine guns are late and he blows his top. But Bella didn’t help matters by getting all mouthy with him.”

“What’s this I hear about Bertolli vanishing from his office?”

Cameron shrugged. “Yeah, that’s weird. I have people looking for him.”

“You did make Costanza realize he needs to stay sharp?”

Lou nodded. “He already knows to step up security.”

“It’d be a good move to do the same here. Tighten up. Maybe have a word with Torrance, as well.”

“Our good local sheriff is on his way right now.”

“Make him remember we aren’t paying him just to sit on his bony ass.”

“He already knows that,” Lou said.

“Make him remember even harder.”

Lou smiled. “Okay, just quit playing hardball with me.”

“I have to keep up my tough-guy image,” Nathan said.

“Yeah, yeah, you want to play nice for that lady deputy of Torrance’s. I know. You go all goofy every time you see her.”

“That’s not true, Lou.”

“It is so. Hey, you think she’s soft on you?” Nathan shrugged.

“Not so little bro anymore,” Cameron said.

Changing the subject, Nathan said, “I saw Tony when I came in. He was looking happy.”

“I put him in charge of Chicago. Bella is out permanently.”

“I know what that means.”

“Yeah? So behave when I’m around.”

Nathan smiled. “Hey, what about the thing in Miami? Is it connected?”

“I don’t know. We’re still checking it out.”

“Lou, there’s something weird going on. Some guy comes out of nowhere and takes down Soames’s deal, then Chicago gets bounced. We lost merchandise. People are dead. There’s just too much not to be connected. Listen to me, Lou.”

“Take it easy,” Cameron said. “I got it in hand. You think I’m not going to work this out? We are talking about our livelihood here. Look, Nate, we’re not in the cuddly toy corner of the business community. The people we mix with are not exactly pillars of society. We’ve got to expect things like this. But we deal with it. I’m dealing with it.”

“How did Calvera take it?”

Cameron grinned. “He was slightly pissed, but I told him he would get his shipment. Just a little late.”

“Lou, are you okay? I know how things like this get to you.”

“I’ll be fine. But it’s lucky we don’t have any dogs or cats around the place. If we had they’d be running screaming with their furry butts kicked all to hell.”

“Wait until we get our hands on the joker who did all this. Then you’ll have something to kick.”

“Yeah, you said it, bro.”

5

Newark, New Jersey

Bolan entered Newark, New Jersey, off the turnpike, the GPS unit guiding him through the bustle of the late-afternoon streets to the industrial area where the auto scrap yard was based. He saw the sprawling grounds well before he reached them, a large site surrounded by corrugated iron fencing topped with razor wire. Bolan could see the stacks of wrecked vehicles rising ahead of him, the angled jibs of cranes, the sloping roof of a long workshop.

The sign on the wide-open steel gates identified the yard as South Auto Salvage.

He drove by without stopping and followed the road as it took him by other industrialized units. Bolan made a recon of the district, noting ways in and out, mapping different routes. Twenty minutes later he made the return trip and exited the area.

Okay, he thought, target spotted.

Next, he needed to carry out a recon exercise. That would be after dark. Bolan needed a base to work from. He had spotted a couple of hotels on his way in, so he backtracked and swung into the parking lot of the first one he came to. It was high end, not cheap, but that didn’t worry Bolan. He was still running on his Stony Man card. He queried the man at the desk, and since there was a room available he checked in. Minutes later he was taking a long, hot shower to wash away the dust of his drive from Chicago. Room service provided a steak and salad dinner, plus fresh coffee. After his meal he stretched out on the bed and allowed himself a few hours’ sleep.

Seven p.m.

BOLAN PULLED ON his blacksuit and geared up for what he hoped would be a soft probe. He took the Beretta 93-R, plus a couple of extra magazines in the pockets of his combat vest. A wire garrote, the Cold Steel Tanto knife and supple black leather gloves all went into a black backpack. He pulled on a pair of dark chinos and a roll-neck sweater. The carry-all containing his additional ordnance went to the back of the room’s closet. Bolan slipped on his jacket, making sure his cell phone was there, along with a wad of cash. All for backup and the unexpected.

He left his room and took the elevator to the lobby, the backpack hanging over one shoulder. He dropped off his key card and made his way out, crossing to his car.

It took him longer to make the return journey to South Auto Salvage. Traffic was still surprisingly heavy and he drove into rain that had blown in quickly. His earlier recon had left him with a mental map of the industrial area, and he used that image to guide him to a secondary road so he could approach his target from the rear. The back strip that ran behind the scrap yard was unlit and in a state of disrepair, with dumped metal trash edging the road. Bolan pulled the rental into the shadows and cut the engine. Rain drummed on the roof. He wasn’t entirely happy about leaving the car where it was, but he had little choice. There was nowhere else to park. He would have to leave it to luck that the car would still be there when he returned, or that it not be discovered at all.

Bolan removed his outer clothing. He removed combat boots from the backpack, and put them on, then donned the loaded vest and the shoulder rig for the Beretta. The Tanto was sheathed on his belt. Lastly, Bolan pulled his black baseball cap from the backpack.

He slipped from the car and locked the vehicle, pulled on his gloves and moved swiftly across the deserted strip, pressing against the corrugated iron fence surrounding the scrap yard.

The darkness worked to his advantage, his black-clad form blending in well. And the persistent rain added another plus.

Bolan walked along the rear fence from one end to the other, looking for a weak spot. He found what he was looking for close to the north corner. The corrugated sheets had been pushed into a generous outward bulge, most likely from wrecked autos being collected and pushed into stacks. He found that the overlap between two sheets had been widened, and when he moved in close he saw that the opening was large enough for him to ease through. He took his time, aware that on the other side of the fence tons of mangled steel would be balanced in close proximity to the fence. He didn’t want to bring all that metal debris down on himself.

As he emerged on the far side of the fence, Bolan found himself in a narrow tunnel. Crushed cars surrounded him. On his knees, hunching his shoulders to reduce his body mass, the soldier crawled forward. The ground under him was wet and spongy, while rain worked its way down through the stacked vehicles. A couple of times Bolan was forced onto his stomach, easing his way through the close-knit formation. The soft creak of metal on metal made him pause. He waited until the creaking ceased before continuing his crawl.

Beyond his spot Bolan picked up the sound of a vehicle engine. Peering through the narrow tunnel, he found he was able to look out across the yard, past the hulks of broken vehicles. To his right was the large workshop, doors open wide and some illumination that showed him the interior. He saw figures moving about. The vehicle he had heard was new, a rain-slicked panel truck. Bolan watched as the side door opened. Two men dragged a third from inside the van. The captive had his hands bound in front of him and a hood over his head. He was hustled into the workshop, where three more figures appeared. The prisoner started to struggle until a hard fist was slammed into his face through the hood. The guy slumped and was half-dragged when his legs gave way. Bolan watched until the group vanished from sight inside the building. Voices were competing in a lively argument, but Bolan was unable to make out any words.